Bright
by kittykatloren
Summary: "At fourteen, Ethlin is of a marriable age, and is quite lucky in Prince Cuan. He is merely six years her senior, a fine young man, heir to a grand estate, and they are already acquainted nonetheless." FE4 Seisen no Keifu; Cuan/Ethlin series of oneshots.
1. I

**A/N:** So even though this pair is very much "predestined" (because it already exists at the beginning of the game) it was still very interesting. I'm not sure if my take is wholly canon, but it's something I could picture happening in the time period. On a side note, I got their ages from Serenes, so I'm pretty sure they're correct.

This will be a two-part story in my usual style - series of oneshots. Most take place pre-game. I'm actually not crazy about this fic as a whole - even though I love the characters, for some reason I'm not really happy with how this turned out. Please leave a review and tell me what you think. Again, in such an unknown fandom as FE4, reviews are more important than ever!

**Disclaimer:** Everything you recognize belongs to Nintendo, not me.

* * *

"She's marrying Cuan?"

Sigurd's face was blank with surprise, though his words came quickly and instinctively. He looked from his father to little Ethlin, only fourteen, now engaged to Sigurd's longtime friend and companion.

"Sigurd, you are letting your friendship with Cuan and your love of your little sister blind you to the prudence of this match," said Lord Bryon kindly. "At fourteen, Ethlin is of a marriable age, and is quite lucky in Prince Cuan. He is merely six years her senior, a fine young man, heir to a grand estate, and they are already acquainted nonetheless. You have introduced them whenever Cuan has visited, have you not?"

Ethlin blushed at this. She had indeed met Cuan at Sigurd's introduction: when she was twelve and he eighteen, Cuan had visited Chalphy for the first time. She had been quite taken by his handsomeness and his kindness to her, as any young girl would be, but she had still been nothing more than Sigurd's baby sister. Who would ever have thought, then, that they were to marry? Not her, certainly not her!

"Ethlin's marriage will secure the ties between Chalphy and Lenster," continued Bryon. "Alliances in a country like Grandbell are essential to survival. Ethlin is young, pretty, and a virgin - "

"Father!" gasped Ethlin, turning scarlet.

"It's important," said Lord Byron shamelessly. "A loose girl cannot be married to a prince. Even her reserved temperament will balance Cuan's occasional hotheadedness, will it not?

Sigurd still looked both bothered and confused. "I just can't handle the idea – my little sister – married to Cuan. _Married_." He looked at her with a sheepish grin. "To me, she'll always be just a little kid, after all."

"Lord Brother!" Ethlin fired up, annoyed. "I am old enough to take care of myself! I can use a sword, I can ride, I can read - "

"All of which I taught you - " said Sigurd.

"– and I am perfectly capable of being married! It's like Father said, I'm old enough!"

"If you say so," said Sigurd. "Aren't you just the tiniest bit nervous? Cuan had quite a reputation back when - "

At this, Ethlin let out a cry and put her hands over her ears, dashing out of the room. She did not want to hear of Prince Cuan's youthful exploits from Sigurd's sly mouth, not when she had so little knowledge of such things in the first place!

"Ethlin, wait, I'm sorry – I was only teasing - "

But it was too late. She had disappeared, and Sigurd had to mutter quick apologies to his bewildered father before racing after her and catching her bodily at the end of the hall.

"Let me go," she said, struggling, tears bright in her eyes.

"Ethlin, I'm sorry," repeated Sigurd as she tore away from his grasp and glared at him. "I didn't realize that you might really be a little bit nervous. Don't worry, Cuan is kind – he will treat you very honorably. And – not that you were doing so – but don't worry on my account. I'll get over it. You'll always be my sister, but you're not my _baby_ sister anymore, you know? And Cuan is about the only other person in the world I'd trust to take care of you, since it can't always be me."

Ethlin gazed up at him, her fury and anxiety somewhat subsiding at his honesty. She threw her arms around him and hugged him tight. "Thank you, Lord Brother," she said tearfully. "I didn't mean to cry. Or shout at you. I'm sorry. I do rather like Prince Cuan, and I know I am very lucky, I just… am so frightened of leaving home."

"You'll be fine. And Lenster is not all that far. I will always be here if you need me," said Sigurd. "But you won't need me - you will have Cuan, won't you? Look, how about this – I'll send him a messenger. Father won't consent to you two meeting privately before the wedding, it's against common practice, but I can tell Cuan to meet us at that old tree out by the river. It's a favorite haunt of ours. We'll sneak out of the castle – right under Father's nose – so you can get to know him a little bit more before you're married. How does that sound?"

Sniffing a little, Ethlin drew away from him and wiped her eyes. She held her head up proudly and decided, then and there, that she would not cry anymore – she was a woman now, ready to marry, no longer the same little girl who clung to her big brother's arm whenever she was scared. "That sounds wonderful," she said. "I _have_ always wanted to sneak out of the castle. I don't get to leave the grounds nearly as much as I would like."

"See, you're not scared of leaving home at all, are you? I'll send him a message straightaway," smiled Sigurd. "Anything for you, dear sister."

* * *

Thousands of stars twinkled brightly down at him as he waited for his old friend, Sigurd, and his little sister, Lady Ethlin of Chalphy. The one time he had met her, she had been just _twelve_. So that meant she had to be fourteen now – old enough to be married, of course, but still so young. She had certainly been pretty, but of course, she was just a girl then. He wondered how she looked now. Had she grown much taller? She was such a slim thing. Perhaps her face was less full, her figure more defined, her hair longer. The thoughts in his head about her numbered quite as many as the stars in the sky; he was so restless to meet her.

At last, he heard the soft patter of hooves against grass and a few nervous whinnies. His own horse gave a little start at the sounds, so Cuan patted her face gently, soothing her. His heart pounded as his friend and his betrothed approached through the stillness.

They carried a single, low-burning torch between the two of them, and when Sigurd caught sight of Cuan by the gnarled old tree, his face split into a grin and he almost dropped the flaming thing in his rush to dismount. Lady Ethlin grabbed the torch just in time as she waited for his hand to help her off her horse.

"Cuan, my friend!" said Sigurd, clapping Cuan on the shouldier. Cuan grinned at him. "It's been a while, hasn't it? Months, at the very least."

"Too long," said Cuan. But most of his attention was focused over Sigurd's shoulder at Lady Ethlin, standing bashfully next to her horse. Cuan looked pointedly at Sigurd, who coughed and walked back over to her.

"May I introduce my sister?" he said formally, leading her over to Cuan. "Lady Ethlin."

As politely as he could, Cuan bowed and kissed her hand, as was customary. When he looked up, her kind face was flushed as pink as her hair. "I hope your journey here was comfortable," she said, and her voice was high and sweet. "I am sorry to make you come so far, for such a primitive meeting."

The formality of the whole situation was stifling. By the shyly ashamed look on Lady Ethlin's face, she knew it, too, but neither of them knew quite what to do about it until Sigurd clapped his hands together and said loudly, "You two may be engaged, but in case you were wondering – I won't be leaving you alone tonight. You'll have to save those nighttime arrangements for another day."

Cuan hissed "_Sigurd!_" irritably just as Lady Ethlin scolded "_Lord Brother!_" in an angry whisper. After a tiny pause, they met each other's eyes and smiled sheepishly - and the tense formality was suddenly broken.

"Please, let's sit," said Cuan, unfastening his cloak and spreading it on the cool grass. The three of them sat with Cuan and Ethlin facing each other and Sigurd to the side. Ethlin was quite as pretty as Cuan had remembered and imagined. Her face held in equal measure the warm innocence of a child and the more defined awareness of a woman; she was a girl just on the edge. She looked bright and healthy, though she was still slender. The pink flush still on her cheeks attested to her wellness. The way she moved was very elegant, graceful like a dancer, but every now and then, he noticed, she would fall into what had to be a childhood habit, and nervously tuck her hair behind her ears.

"Lady Ethlin," Cuan began, but she shook her head at once.

"Just Ethlin, my lord."

"Then you must call me Cuan," he said with a smile. "Not 'my lord,' or 'Prince Cuan,' just Cuan. I so tire of hearing titles. We were given simple names for a reason, you know?"

Ethlin looked intrigued. "You don't like any titles, at all?"

"Not really. They are necessary at times, but often I wish they weren't."

"I always call my brother 'Lord Brother,'" said Ethlin thoughtfully, glancing at Sigurd. "Does that count as a title?"

"Very much so, especially for someone you know so well. It's even two words – doubly as unnecessary."

Here she giggled, and just the sound made Cuan smile, even without the addition of her happily glowing eyes. "Well, I just don't like saying Sigurd. I'm sorry, Lord Brother, but your name has always sounded so silly to me."

"The harsh truth emerges!" bellowed Sigurd, as Cuan roared with laughter. "How would you like it if I started calling you 'Lady Sister?'"

"Oh, but that is unacceptable," said Cuan. "No one can say _her_ name sounds silly. Yours, on the other hand – I quite see her point - "

"Knave," muttered Sigurd, making them all laugh again.

They continued in this way for what had to be hours; Cuan lost track of the true time. They shared their funny stories and common interests, laughing and smiling all the while, with Sigurd there to instantly break the silence whenever it occurred. He was in his element, Sigurd was – as a good brother, a good friend. Cuan discovered that Ethlin loved to read in the garden, take long rides with her brother, and of all strange things, eat sugared peaches.

"I will be sure to have a basket of them ready for you, and only you, when you arrive in Lenster," Cuan said. Ethlin giggled again, but as her laughs subsided, he caught sight of her attempting to hide a little yawn behind her delicate hand.

Sigurd, apparently, noticed nothing. He jumped into the conversation, his voice as awake and excited as ever. "Did we not tell you? We know when that will be. The wedding is set for two months from now – a fortnight after she turns fifteen."

Ethlin blushed at the mention of her youth, but nodded in agreement. Studying her closely, Cuan noticed that her eyes, though bright with good cheer, were also winking with tiredness.

"I saw you yawn just a moment ago," said Cuan. "You must be exhausted, Ethlin – you can't be used to staying up so late. I shouldn't have kept you out here for so long. You should go back to Chalphy to sleep."

"No, no, I don't mind," she insisted, but upon hearing Cuan's words, Sigurd noticed his sister's drowsiness too.

"Cuan's right," he said. "We'd best start heading back, or Father might miss us. Cuan, though we can't let Father know you're here, you're welcome to stay in the area."

Regretfully Cuan shook his head. "I'm expected back at Lenster tomorrow eve. But the journey was worth it, to spend time with you both," he said, though he looked especially towards Ethlin. She was to be his wife, after all, and he was rather glad that he liked her. He could even imagine himself falling in love with her, eventually. Even at so young an age, she was clever and charming, kind and pretty.

"Good night to you then, Cuan," said Ethlin, standing and smoothing her skirts. Cuan rose too, took her hand, and kissed it again, his lips lingering longer on her soft skin than before.

"Good night to you as well, my bride."

"Isn't that a title, Cuan?" said Ethlin, her lips twitching.

"So it is. But a necessary and altogether not undesirable one," said Cuan, which made her blush once more. It was really a sweet sight.

"That's quite enough for tonight," interrupted Sigurd, taking Ethlin's hand from Cuan. "We really must be on our way. I'm glad you could make it here tonight, Cuan – it was just like old times."

"Indeed. Good night, then, Sigurd."

As they left, and as Cuan began to refasten his dusty cloak around his shoulders, he overheard Sigurd talking to his sister, asking her what she thought of Cuan now, after really meeting him. He turned his head, straining to hear her response, but they had gone too far away for him to make out her timid whisper. However, between the light of the moon and Sigurd's paling torch, he caught sight of her face, a warm little smile and glowing expression so firmly in place there that he, too, could not help but smile a little himself.


	2. II

**A/N:** And here's the last part. Again, this isn't my favorite piece of work, but all the same please tell me what you think! The last scene is the only one that doesn't take place pre-game - you can probably tell; it takes place in Chapter 5 when they both (*tear*) die.

* * *

She looked truly beautiful in all her wedding finery. It was as if she had aged at least five years in the past two months; just the addition of the formal gown in shimmering white, fine jewels, and subtle paint over her eyes made her look so much more mature than a mere fifteen. All day, when she had glanced shyly at him from under her chaste veil, his breath would catch in his throat.

_Remember. She's only fifteen._

It was this thought that made him meet Sigurd after the ceremony and festivities – or rather, what made him allow his old friend to drag him forcefully off to a quiet corner to give him a piece of brotherly advice. Sigurd's grip was tight around Cuan's arm, and Cuan, knowing what was coming, made no effort to escape.

"Listen, Cuan," said Sigurd, in low and deadly serious sort of voice, "you may be my oldest friend, my truest companion, but Ethlin is my sister. If you ever break her heart, if you hurt her even accidentally, if you dishonor her - "

"I understand," said Cuan quickly. "Sigurd, I swear to you, I will respect and care for her with all that I have."

Sigurd nodded shortly. "I would never have thought less of you. I just had to check, you know – brotherly duty."

"I understand," said Cuan again, though he smiled this time. But as his previous thoughts of her beauty and youth returned, he grabbed Sigurd's arm before he could walk away. "Sigurd, I have to ask – Ethlin's so young. Ah – how can I say this – does she know… about tonight?"

At this rather awkward and childlike question, Sigurd snorted with laughter, and Cuan had to suppress a frustrated frown. It was an honest question; he himself knew nothing about young girls and their naiveté, or lack thereof.

"She's not a child," said Sigurd at last. "Yes, Cuan, she knows. She's never done it before, obviously, but she knows. Be gentle with her."

He didn't say anything else, but there was a look in his eyes that said, very clearly, _Or else._

Cuan nodded fervently.

Soon, they were tracing their way back through the many guests in the wide dining hall of Lenster palace. Cuan found himself at a loss as to what he should do next. Should he speak to Lord Bryon, his new father-in-law? He hadn't seen him here yet. No, he should find Ethlin. Yes, that was it. He should be with his bride. His _wife_.

The thought was so strange and foreign, that thought of having a wife. It was not uncomfortable or unnerving, just strange. He had a duty, now, to protect his own family instead of his father's, for she _was_ his family.

When he found her amongst the crowd, the surrounding girls all tittered and giggled, but Cuan pretended not to notice. He held his wife's hand and reveled in her bright blush and the secret smile she shot at him, hidden from the curious gazes of her friends. He was learning already to truly love that smile.

* * *

She felt, just then, as if she were little more than a girl, her skinny legs shaking, wondering desperately what she was to do. She and her friends had talked about it, of course, giggled shyly, fantasized about what it felt like to _feel_ a man, but she, little Ethlin, was the first to become a wife, and therefore the first to know men. She knew, in theory, what was to happen on a girl's wedding night. It terrified and thrilled her in equal measure.

She and Cuan were led to their new rooms by two servants, who opened the door, ushered them in, then bowed and left.

It was a gorgeous place. Ethlin's mouth fell open at the sheer golden draperies over the wide windows, the ornately carved chairs and writing desk in the corner, the finely woven and intricately patterned carpet. The colors all around were deep red and glorious gold, shinier than she had ever seen in her life. Sugared peaches, ripe with the same colors as the furniture and fabrics, sat pristinely in a basket on one of the tables.

"Do you like it?" came Cuan's voice from somewhere far away, right beside her.

She started a little and struggled to find the right words. "It's – it's so lovely," she managed at last.

Silence fell. Ethlin now noticed the bed. It, too, was shielded by bright golden curtains, and the blankets were a deep, royal shade of crimson. More pillows lined the carved headboard than she could count. It was a far cry from her comfortable yet modest bed in Chalphy, even though she had been the princess there.

Before she could marvel any longer at the sight of her new rooms, Cuan touched her hand. Like he had done so many times before, he raised her fingers to his lips and kissed them gently, chastely. When he spoke, his words were kind and soft.

"When my father told me that they had found me a bride… I did not know what to expect. Ethlin… though I was surprised at first… I am glad it was you."

She blushed, quite lost for words. But it didn't even matter, for Cuan looked up at her, and his dark eyes gleamed, and she could not think about anything but him.

He brushed her cheek with careful fingers, then cupped her face with his hand. "May I kiss you, my wife?"

Her heart skipped a beat. Her breath caught in her throat.

"Yes, my husband," she whispered at last.

And when he did, he stole her breath away. His hands fell to her waist, and they were suddenly standing so close, so very, very close. He kissed her gently and carefully, but even though her fear of the unknown that was to come, Ethlin felt something stir inside her body that wanted more than mere gentleness. By instinct, she opened her mouth to him; it seemed the right thing to do.

His kiss went deeper, the sensation touching her very soul, making her tremble with mixed anxiety and desire. He seemed to notice, and must have mistaken her shivers for simple fear, for he drew away at once with a concerned and compassionate expression.

"Ah – I… are you scared? Please, do not be so. On my honor, I will not do anything that you do not wish me to do."

"I'm – no – I'm not scared," she said hurriedly. "Only – only nervous. I… I don't know…"

He kissed her forehead briefly. "You will know," he said, his voice soothing her. He looked into her eyes and spoke very kindly. "If you wish to know."

Ethlin could hardly move for breathlessness. She very much wanted to know, but it was all so mysterious, so terrifyingly unfamiliar. She felt Cuan's hands resting on her hips, and suddenly she wondered what it would feel like to have those hands resting on her bare skin. Would they be warm or cold? Surely his palms would be calloused, perhaps rough, from all his training as a knight.

Slowly, so slowly, Ethlin took one of his hands from her waist. She traced her fingers over his palm, measured her hand against his, twined their fingers together. Then she slid her hand to his wrist and guided his arm back to her waist, all the way around. Soon his hands both rested at the small of her back, right where the criss-crossing ribbons that fastened her dress were tied. She looked into his dark eyes, his handsome face, and feeling her cheeks hot and pink, she nodded.

His eyes still fixed on hers, Cuan untied the knot behind her back, then tugged at the silk ribbons. They slid gracefully though their clasps, falling in a smooth pile to the floor. Her corseted dress billowed, held onto her body only by the sheer sleeves, and she could finally take a deep gasp of air. Cuan smiled at that.

"Women's gowns are like torture devices," he said, as one of the sleeves slipped off her shoulder. "For the men as well as the women." His eyes flickered down at the newly exposed skin, and Ethlin was quite breathless once again.

Cuan touched the other sleeve, and it too slipped to her elbow. When she lifted her arms, the dress and all her underskirts finally fell away in a silken pool. A soft sigh escaped Cuan's lips. His hands traced over her skin, coming to rest on her hips again, just like she had imagined. His touch was warm and smooth despite his calloused palms.

"You are beautiful," he murmured in awe. With hurried movements, quite different from his usual quiet grace, he found the buttons of his own shirt and undid them quickly, tugging it off over his head. Then he pulled her to him once more, kissing her, and she could almost taste his yearning.

With her skin pressed flush against his, Ethlin finally understood the thrill of being desired. The fierce new longing that raced through her veins was both mysterious and welcome, and at last she gave in, trusting Cuan with her body and heart.

* * *

Ever since the war had begun, Ethlin had wondered, in her twilight moments, if she would die in battle. That thought didn't bother her so much. She would miss her children, and feel sorry that they would have to grow up without a mother, but they would always have Cuan to love, support, and protect them.

But what truly frightened her was the thought of Cuan, her beloved, dying in battle and leaving her alone.

No, not alone… she would have Altenna and Leaf. Part of him, living on in his children, would still be with her. But all the same, he would be gone, and she didn't know if her heart would ever recover from the loss.

Never once did she contemplate what would happen if they _both_ were to die. The thought was too terrifying to materialize even in her darkest nightmares. They could not leave their children alone and undefended; it simply could not happen, for they both loved them far too much for that.

But, in the end, none of that mattered. When the mere force of wind from the Thracian dragons' wings knocked both her and Cuan sprawling into the sand, their weapons flying out of their grasp. Desperately Ethlin clung to her daughter, cradling her in her arms. But even she was soon stolen away. Ethlin cried out, but it achieved nothing; her mouth only filled with hot sand.

"Ethlin!" called a frantic voice from somewhere behind her. "_Ethlin!_"

It was Cuan. Ethlin crawled blindly to his side, feeling a short _whoosh_ of air as a lance plunged into the sand right where her body had been mere moments before. Through tear-filled eyes, Ethlin saw her husband on his knees, a bloody hand pressed to his shoulder, a mad desperation in his eyes. The remaining knights of Lenster, unhorsed all around them and struggling to survive, still fought valiantly against the Thracians, even when half their number had been felled, defenseless.

When she reached him, he strained to lift his injured arms, but all the same he threw them around her. He clung to her wordlessly, and Ethlin gasped, hearing more screams and breaking bones all around her. For a brief second, Cuan pulled away and met her eyes, opening his mouth as if to speak to her.

The words never came. She saw, all of a sudden, that there was a lance protruding from Cuan's back, and she heard the deep, crazed cackle of the Thracian battalion's leader. Cuan's eyes widened in those few final seconds between life and death. They were fixed upon her, fathomless, and then they were blank.

The last thing Ethlin knew before the blackness was mind-numbing panic. Her daughter gone, her husband dead, her son so far away. Never before had felt so horribly alone, and when the final blow came, she closed her eyes and was almost grateful for the pain.


End file.
